


Heavy Like a Heartbeat, Sweet Like Lead

by shieldings



Series: We'd Fly Away Together [4]
Category: DCU, Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Codependency, Denial, Established Relationship, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Past Underage, Recovery, Time Skips, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, apprentice au, on the other hand we have a happy jason soooo, see i'm a crew member on this ship but it's really small so it's more like a rowboat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldings/pseuds/shieldings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows that he has nightmares, but she never brings them up, even when he thrashes and wakes up wild-eyed at three in the morning. He gives her the same courtesy, never questioning her on the days she can't bear to be touched.</p><p>Still, she wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fossilized jellyfish, fossilized shit, plain butter

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my grand finale. By that, i mean that I'm going to post five nonsense robterras and then leave all you sorry bastards alone so you can get some freaking sleep.  
> The format here is a little different from the other parts of this series, since it's got more weird timeline shit.  
> Anyway Forgive Me

 

**TM**

**xx91**

–

“It's like fossils,” she says. She isn't sure whether or not Dick is listening, but she keeps on talking because it feels nice. “It's like fossilized jellyfish.” She plucks a leaf from the potted plant by the window and grinds it between her fingers. “Like, have you seen a dead jellyfish?”

 

Dick shakes his head, not looking up from his book (it looks like a Hardy Boys novel. She reminds herself to judge him for it).

 

“They only look like jellyfish for a couple of hours. Then they're all deflated and they don't look like anything.” She wonders what the leaf would taste like, if she ate it. She probably shouldn't eat the leaf. “But the fossils in museums aren't shriveled or anything. They've been dead for a super-long time, but they don't look quite like dead things should.”

 

“What are you going for?” he asks.

 

“It's like fossils,” she repeats. “Like fossilized dinosaur shit.”

 

“That makes more sense.”

–

**xx86**

**\--**

“ _I just want,” she said through a flurry of kisses. “I just want to be happy for a while.”_

 

“ _I'm not sure I can do that,” he said. She pushed his hair out of his eyes, and hugged him tightly._

 

“ _Stop thinking for a little bit,” she whispered. She tugged at his collar and kissed his exposed throat. He squeaked._

 

“ _I wish I could,” he said. She sighed and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I wish I could help,” he said._

 

“ _Stop that. The martyr stuff.”_

 

“ _Martyr stuff?”_

 

“ _I'm tired of you letting yourself get sad,” she said. Her voice came out muffled. “Stop letting me make you sad.”_

 

_He didn't answer that. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and they pretended that neither of them had said anything._

**DG**

**xx88**

–

It was going to be weird. Dick knew that it was going to be weird.

 

“Sorry,” Jason said. He was staring at his feet, and Dick was suddenly struck by how small he was. He couldn't be more than three or four years younger, but Jason was at least a head shorter than him.

 

“It's fine.” For some reason, the chairs in the manor didn't feel right. Had Bruce changed them? “I think it's pretty normal to freak out if you see a stranger in your kitchen.”

 

“You were here first.”

 

“...I guess.”

 

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Dick scrutinized the younger boy's face. He had a wide jawline, and bright, curious eyes. Something about him was deeply upsetting.

 

“What was Deathstroke like?” Jason asked. “I mean, I heard about--” He saw Dick's expression. “You don't have to answer that.”

 

“It's fine.” It really wasn't fine. “He was strange, I think. He wasn't like any of our rogues, here in Gotham.” He smiled, a display of nonaggression. “I mean, I guess they're not really mine anymore. They're yours now.”

 

“That's a funny way to put it.” Jason was bouncing his leg. Nervous energy, probably. Dick recalled his first night at the manor: he couldn't sleep, so he'd climbed all the furniture and gotten sneaker prints on the china cabinet. The memory shouldn't have been painful, but it was.

 

“How are you settling in?” Dick asked.

 

“I got to pick my own bedsheets, and Bruce lets me take anything I want from the fridge.” Jason grinned. “Have you ever eaten plain butter before?”

 

“Can't say I have.”

 

“It's pretty good.”

\--

**TM**

**xx91**

–

She knows that he has nightmares, but she never brings them up, even when he thrashes and wakes up wild-eyed at three in the morning. He gives her the same courtesy, never questioning her on the days she can't bear to be touched.

 

Still, she wonders.

–

**xx85**

–

“ _To be perfectly honest,” she laughed. “There's not much that can shock me anymore. I've seen pretty much everything.”_

 

“ _I've seen a lot, and I still get shocked.” She could imagine his eyebrow quirking behind his mask, and it irritated her._

 

“ _You only_ think _you've seen a lot.” She made a sweeping gesture with her cigarette, leaving behind an arc of smoke that dispersed against the ceiling of the training room._

 

_It had been a month since she'd started her apprenticeship, and she was proud of her progress. Slade was harsh, but he got the job done. Even when she panicked (and she did a lot of panicking), she was able to rein in her powers for the most part. The key was focus, and sometimes focus couldn't be achieved without a little pain._

 

“ _How much can one person see?” Robin cocked his head to one side. “Anyway, I worked with Batman. I think that makes me qualified to say I've seen a lot.”_

 

“ _There was probably a bunch of stuff he didn't show you.”_

 

“ _Nope. He couldn't keep secrets from me--”_

_  
“Adults lie, Robin. He probably didn't take you along on important missions.”_

 

_Robin crossed his arms and slouched, but he didn't say anything to counter her._

 

 _She'd been shocked when she'd first seen him sulking around the base. After all, he was Robin._ The _Robin, the one who smiled and somersaulted across Gotham like it was a playground. She couldn't even imagine what would lead him to a life of crime. Even though he was bigger and sulkier than the one she'd seen on TV, he was still squeaky-clean and pure as the bottled water they handed out behind churches._

 

_She was still kind of happy to have him around, though. It was nice having someone her age to talk to. Adults couldn't be trusted, after all._

–

**xx91**

**\--**

He's out fighting again. She kneads a brick between her fingers and wonders, not for the first time, if she should follow him. She feels pathetic, to be honest. She can't hold down a job, she doesn't trust herself not to fall back into her criminal habits, and God knows she can't keep house (does she even live with him? She's forgotten. She didn't have her own apartment, and she left her backpack in his bathroom, so does that mean they live together?).

 

Nightwing. The name suits him. She sees his photo in the newspaper, alongside other smiling, bloodied young heroes: Red Arrow and the Flash and... Changeling. That brought back some painful memories.

 

The next day, he offers her a spare domino mask. “Like old times,” he says. She shakes her head and smiles, tells him about the TV show she wants to catch up on. She doesn't actually watch anything. She takes a benadryl and goes to sleep before the sun has even set.

 

She dreams about the few months she'd spent pretending to be a hero, the rush of triumph that only came with a tied-up multicolored villain cussing her out, but never with a successful contract. Those only ended with puddles of blood and smooth dollar bills.

 

She wakes up with her cheeks wet. It's probably allergies. She should talk to the pharmacy about how useless their medicine is. That'll show them.

 


	2. popcorn, drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bring you more of my abomination

–

**TM**

**xx85**

**\--**

“ _Hey, Robin.”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

“ _What's your real name?”_

 

“ _None of your business!” He chucked a bolt at Tara's head. She caught it without looking (good training did that to people)._

 

“ _Okay, then. Where are you from?”_

 

“ _Gotham.”_

 

“ _Anywhere else?”_

 

“ _Nowhere, really.” He paused. “Or maybe everywhere. My family traveled a lot.”_

 

“ _Sounds stressful.”_

 

“ _It was fun.” He smiled and looked up at the ceiling. “Europe, especially. I could fall asleep in one country and wake up in another. I don't think I appreciated it enough.”_

 

“ _Wait, were you rich, or..?”_

 

“ _Circus.” He said this like it wasn't a big deal._

 

“ _Wait, seriously?” She'd been to a circus once. She'd sneaked in and stolen a bag of popcorn. She'd only caught a glimpse of the performance: a woman rode standing on two horses, and a pair of clowns tumbled in circles around an empty barrel. It had been surreal and vaguely uncomfortable. The bright lights and loud music, the overbearing smell of sweat and butter and candy floss, and the hundreds of pressing bodies had made her dizzy and anxious. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to live through that every day._

 

“ _Of course! My parents were performers there.”_

 

“ _What kind?”_

 

“ _Can't tell you that.” He had a sort of dreamy, nostalgic look on his face. She wondered what his eyes looked like behind that mask. “What was your family like?”_

 

“ _Shitty. Dad had a wife and Mom wasn't around most of the time. Spent a lot of time alone.”_

 

“ _Sorry.” He looked a bit embarrassed. His ears were red. Tara felt a twinge of vindictive pleasure._

 

“ _'S fine. I turned out all right.”_

 

“ _I guess.”_

–

**DG**

**xx88**

\--

“I'm just happy that you're alive,” Wally said. “I went to the memorial service, you know. For Dick, I mean, not Robin.”

 

“How was it?” Dick asked. For some reason, this subject wasn't upsetting him. He wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

 

“Terrible.” Wally put his feet up on the coffee table. Dick didn't scold him for it, but he reminded himself to wipe it down before Alfred saw it. “It was all pictures of you from school and charity events and stuff. You were wearing little sweater-vests and smiling and shaking hands with people. You were nothing like you.”

 

“Gross.” Dick smiled, and did his best to look like himself. “Did they have a service for Robin, too, or..?”

 

“At the Watchtower.” Wally stared at his own reflection in the coffee table. “Everybody came. There's a little portrait of you in the gym now. Next to the parallel bars. It's, um...” He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “It's you as a kid. 'Cause you were always climbing stuff. They, um--”

 

“It's okay, you don't have to talk about it.” It was a little offputting. After all, Dick was the one who'd been isolated for two and a half years. Shouldn't he be the one stuttering and shaking? He felt... disturbingly calm.

 

“I visited it,” Wally said, clenching his fists. “I visited it every time Barry took me up there.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

–

**xx85**

–

_He could feel his resolve crumbling. Every day he spent at the base, the more normal it became. The ceiling of his room had become familiar._

 

_This was absolutely horrifying._

 

_At first, his pride wouldn't allow him to think of himself as a captive. He was here of his own choice. This was his sacrifice, and he knew what he was doing. The memories of his friends' smiling faces were enough to keep him going. He had a purpose, he was helping people, he was choosing his own fate. He knew that the Titans were looking for him, and he prayed that they wouldn't find him._

 

_It wasn't long before that changed._

 

 _After a month, he began to hope, selfishly, that they would somehow figure out what was going on. They could disable the nanobots themselves, or maybe have the League deal with it, or anything that would take their lives out of his hands. Then, he could escape (it wouldn't be_ that _hard, would it?) and go back to the tower and pretend none of this had ever happened._

 

_By the third month, he'd given up on that idea._

 

_He missed Bruce. He really, really didn't want to admit it, but he missed Bruce. Even though he'd left Gotham for the express purpose of getting away from the man, he missed him. He caught himself thinking fondly of late nights spent at the cave, of nicknaming gadgets and the smell of diesel fuel in Crime Alley._

 

_At night, he dreamed he was four feet tall and pouncing on crooks from behind. He dreamed that he was reading mystery novels in the early morning, that he was explaining their plots to Alfred over decaf tea and cranberry scones. He dreamed that Bruce was teaching him how to punch and rewarding him with gatorade and comic books when he did well._

 

_He tried not to think of those things in the daytime, because it was too easy to make connections. He didn't think about how Slade and Bruce had the same build, about how they both steepled their hands when they thought. He didn't think about how he was beginning to feel a thrill whenever Slade praised him._

 

_Instead, he thought about good, plain, wholesome things, like concrete and steel and tough choices._

–

**xx90**

–

Tara looked like a half-drowned cat standing at the door of his apartment. She wore a man's coat and a pair of bright green sandals that were at least two sizes too small, and she was carrying a plastic child's backpack with some cartoon character on it. She waved at him sheepishly. He stared, slack jawed in his Superman pajamas.

 

“'Sup, fucker?” she asked.

 

“Bought a new microwave,” he answered. “Wanna see it?”

 

“Duh.”

 

She stepped in, and, like a half-drowned cat, she didn't leave.

–

**xx91**

–

It's the third night in a row they've gone to bed together, and the third night in a row she's woken him up with her sleep-talking (or yelling, maybe). Most of what she says is incomprehensible, vague protests and panicky exclamations. Sometimes she'll stick out an arm or roll to the side; once or twice, she's actually fallen out of the bed. It's a little disturbing, but not enough for him to call her out on it.

 

As a general rule, they'll spend about a week with one person in the bed and the other on the futon, before either switching or waking up next to each other. It's a confusing system, and it's definitely a lot easier to just agree about sleeping positions beforehand.

 

She stops writhing around, and her cries fade into soft breathing. He puts his arm over her shoulder and she rolls into his chest.

 

He can't get back to sleep. He thinks of other long, quiet nights.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'sup fucker


	3. the law, nametags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter contains references to a very dubiously consensual sexual encounter between a minor and an adult, so tread very carefully.

–

**DG**

**xx85**

–

“ _Batman's kinda scary,” Terra said. “How could you work with him?”_

 

“ _He's scary, but he's a good person.”_

 

“ _By 'good' you mean that he was nice to_ you _.”_

 

“ _No, I mean he's actually good!” This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. For some reason, Terra was fixated on Dick's past life as Robin. “He fights for other people, without asking for anything in return. That's objectively good.”_

 

“ _It's not good for the people he's beating up.” Terra lit a cigarette. Dick wrinkled his nose. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to her habit. “I mean, for a lot of people stealing is just a job. Imagine you were doing your job and some jerk in tights started punching you.”_

 

“ _Don't have to imagine, it's happened before.”_

 

“ _That's different. Like, it was your job to chase them, right? So getting punched was basically in the job description.”_

 

“ _I guess. But stealing is against the law, and--”_

 

“ _So is assault.”_

 

“ _Since when are you a lawyer?” She was beginning to get on his nerves._

 

“ _Since it became legal for you to run around hitting people, dick.” She stretched luxuriously, and his stomach dropped._

 

“ _What did you just call me?” he asked. He clenched his fists and tried to look composed._

 

“ _Geez, don't throw a fit.” She took a long drag of her cigarette. “You're never going to make it if you keep talking like a church mom.”_

 

“ _Ch-church mom?”_

 

“ _Church mom, dickwad. A mom from a church?”_

 

“ _Oh, you meant it that way.” He released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding._

 

“ _How else would I have meant it?” She tapped a bit of cooling ash onto his knee and smirked at him._

 

“ _You're right,” he said. “I need to stop being so sensitive.”_

 

“ _Tell me about it.”_

–

**TM**

**xx85**

–

_She wasn't exactly sure how it began._

 

_If it started with a crush, then it began about a month-and-a-half into her apprenticeship. She caught herself blushing when he adjusted her fighting stance, and staring at his eye through his mask, building a face around it._

 

_She hadn't really expected anything to come of it: after all, she'd had crushes on adults before. Her tutor back in Markovia had known a lot of rock puns, and she'd pined after him for all of sixth grade (of course, he'd been sent away after the accidents started happening)._

 

_Of course, adults usually didn't reciprocate those crushes, so she'd thought it was all in her head when his hands lingered too long on her shoulders and his praise became more... physical in nature. She took it all in turn, and did her best not to get flustered._

–

**xx90**

–

She got a job, a real one, as a dollar store shelf stocker. The man who interviewed her had been pretty sympathetic.

 

“I've seen a lot of kids like you,” he'd said. “As long as you show up on time and wash your face, you should be fine here.”

 

She'd nodded enthusiastically, said that she'd show up early and cheerful. She was nearly singing when she left the store, and her heart was pounding way harder than it should have been.

–

**xx85**

–

_Adults absolutely couldn't be trusted. Even the most reasonable-looking adults had to be approached with caution, since they had a habit of hooking people up to tubes and performing experiments on them. Robin didn't understand this. Even though he would occasionally badmouth Batman, he still seemed to worship the ground the man walked on. It was the most annoying thing in the world._

 

“ _Nobody actually likes him,” she said. Robin rolled out of his bunk onto the floor and glared up at her._

 

“ _That's not true!”_

 

“ _He's just a bully with a bunch of fancy toys.” Tara glanced down at him. He was all flushed and riled up. “People are scared of him.”_

 

“ _I could say the same thing about Slade.”_

 

“ _At least he doesn't say he's doing good.”_

 

_Robin made a sort of wailing half-scream of frustration and dove under his thin blanket._

 

_Tara thought about masks, and what heroes did._

–

**xx90**

–

The rec center was open 24 hours a day, and it had showers in the locker rooms, so she was pretty much covered in terms of personal hygiene. For the time being Tara had to sneak in with various groups of high schoolers, but she was baby-faced enough to pull it off. Some nights she even slept on the gym mats. It was nice.

 

She managed to get herself looking halfway presentable by the time the paying pool-goers started pouring in, so she grabbed her backpack and set off to start her promising career in shelf-stocking. The first few minutes went fine. She got a tour of the back room and a nametag.

 

Things went downhill from there. Her shift manager, Helen, had an eyepatch.

 

Tara quit the next day.

–

**xx85**

–

_What happened shouldn't have come as a surprise. After all,Tara had been the one who brought it up._

 

_It wasn't like she didn't know what sex was. She'd gotten a quick, concise explanation when she was ten years old, and she'd filled in the gaps with magazines from the drugstores. Apparently, sex was an open secret, something people didn't talk about out loud but did constantly anyway. It was for adults only, except a lot of the adults were also high schoolers, maybe? It really didn't make sense, but apparently it was fun, and sticky, and not allowed, and mandatory._

 

_Anyway, it was a bad idea to say things that she didn't mean, or half-meant, or maybe found interesting as a concept but not in real life. That was pretty much the same as telling a lie, and even though she was a good liar, lying to Slade was basically digging her own grave. So when she said what she said, she meant it entirely._

 

“ _Are you into me or something?” she'd asked after a particularly handsy sparring session._

 

“ _Do you really want the answer to that question?” He'd given her a chance to back out, and she hadn't taken it._

 

“ _Yes, then?” It was entirely her idea._

 

_She really hadn't expected him to reciprocate her feelings (wait, did what happened count as reciprocation? Did it count as feelings?), but she hadn't been completely shocked. She'd been the one who'd brought it up._

 

_Either way, it happened. It was confusing and claustrophobic and embarrassing and completely normal and expected. It happened within minutes of the question, one room over, he in his mask and she in her plastic barrettes. For some reason, she couldn't ground herself; it was as though she was dreaming, all sound muffled and her head filled with static. It was what she'd wanted. It wasn't really fun, but it was at least interesting. The static was bright and crackling, and she was special because she was in on the secret (For Adults Only, XXX, 18+)._

 

_He said she'd done a good job, and that he was proud of her. She just nodded, lost in thought. In a way, she had been elevated. She wasn't an adult, but she was a hybrid of some sort, because she knew what she wasn't supposed to. Adults couldn't be trusted, but she couldn't be trusted, either._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helen had an accident during her railroad-working days (think phineas gage), but that's another story  
> i really need to stop thinking about people who only exist ffor one sentence


	4. needles, tooth fairy, broken nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I changed the archive warnings, so, once again, step carefully. There's some triggering content in this chapter.

**TM**

**xx91**

**–**

“How are they doing?” she asks when she hears the window open.  She sits up, bumps her head on the bottom of a chair, and puts down the TV guide (nothing good is on, as usual).

 

“Cyborg's on the list for potential Leaguers,” Dick says, hopping down from the windowsill onto the battered couch.  It creaks distressingly.  “We're throwing a party for him next week.”

 

“Yay,” she says flatly.

 

“They want you to come.”  Dick takes off his mask and slides down onto the floor to join her.  “They miss you.”

 

“They miss _Terra_.”  The cute Terra, the one with an upbeat attitude who'd never killed anybody.

 

“They know pretty much everything, and they still want to see you.”  Dick crosses his arms.  “They were your friends back when we were kids--”

 

“I pretended to be their friend so I could kill them.”

 

“And they forgave you.”

 

“Stop being positive.”  She flops over sideways.  The cheap carpet feels kind of nice against her cheek.

 

“Stop sabotaging yourself.”

 

“Stop wearing Superman pajamas.”

 

“Stop eating off the floor.”

 

“Stop being a fucking nerd.”  It's the only comeback she can think of.

 

“ _You_ should stop being a fucking nerd.”

 

She sits up straight.  “You swore!”

 

“I can swear!”

 

“You hit the quota, so now you're PG-13.”  She rolls over and puts her head on his shoulder.

 

“What are you even talking about?” he laughs.  His breath moves her hair.  She files away this signal of life, of closeness, for later use.

 

“Doesn't matter.”  She closes her eyes.  “Anyway, I don't want to go to the party.  I'm happy like this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I'm fine not having a job or hobbies or friends, because I'm alive, and I have food, and I've got you.”  She smiles to herself.  “I mean, I don't want to be a bum or anything, but I'm happy just doing the bare minimum to survive.  I know you like to read and talk to people and go out to eat and stuff, but I _don't._ ”

 

Dick shifts a little, forcing her to stop leaning on him.  He looks upset.  He takes a deep breath.  “That's kind of terrible,” he says.

 

Her stomach drops.  “It's not your business how I live my life,” she says.  It comes out more snappishly than she'd intended it to.  “I mean, it's your apartment,” she adds.  “But you don't get to choose what I do with my time!”

 

“It's not normal not to want to do _anything_!”  His hands are shaking.  She knows he's not going to freak out and hit her or something, but it's still setting off old alarm bells.  “I mean, I thought you were at least reading or going on walks or something, not just sitting on the floor waiting for me to come back!”

 

“I'm not doing it in front of you, so why should it matter?”

 

“It's normal--” He's stuttering, he's out of breath, he's obviously on the verge of a breakdown, over something this stupid...  “It's normal to be tired, but I-- I think you might be sick, or--”

 

“Of _course_ I'm sick!”  She pushes him away, stumbles backward into the wall.  She hears her voice rising, but she doesn't rein herself in.  She can feel the static in her head, white and prying.  “If you didn't notice, I didn't have a happy childhood!  I killed people for a living, Dick!”

 

“So did--” his interruption fails, if only because she's louder.

 

“They put me in a tube and shoved a bunch of needles in my arm!  I used to cause earthquakes when I sneezed!  I-- I was-- I was fifteen years old and fucking a guy as old as my dad.”  She takes a deep breath, tries to focus on something.  “There's plenty wrong with me, but I...  I thought you didn't mind.”  She stares at a spot on the opposite wall.  It's... it reminds her of a bird, kind of.   A sparrow, or maybe a finch.  The static keeps crackling.

 

“I'm not mad at you,” he says.  He cautiously reaches forward, tries to put a hand on her shoulder, but she slaps it away.  “I just hadn't realized how bad it was.”

 

“Screw you,” she whispers.  She stands up shakily, walks to the bathroom, and throws up half a can of Pringles and a glass of orange juice.  She doesn't answer when Dick knocks on the door.  He can piss out the window.  She doesn't care.

 

She's slept worse places than a bathtub.

–

**DG**

**xx85**

**–**

_Terra was unusually talkative that night.  She came into the room disheveled and red-eyed and off-balance, and Dick was fairly certain that she'd been crying.  All the same, she begged him to tell her jokes and insisted on reciting poems in some language he didn't recognize (it sounded European, but he wasn't quite sure)._

_It was out of character and uncomfortable, but he had a feeling that it was important.  They sat facing each other on the floor, and told stories._

_“When I was a kid I stole a can of grape leaves,” she said._

_“When I was a kid I hid under Batman's work chair,” he said._

_“Batman has a_ chair _?”_

_“What's so weird about that?”_

_“I can't imagine him sitting.”  She was playing with her hair.  He'd noticed that she did this whenever she got nervous, which was pretty often.  In a way, she kind of reminded him of a small, yappy dog: always angry, acting bigger than itself, but also always at least a little bit scared._

_“He's just a person.”_

_“People are the worst,” she practically spat the words out.  “They're disgusting.”_

_“Yeah,” he said.  “They can get pretty bad.”_

_“The only way you can stop them from being awful is by forcing them to respect you.”_

_“…I guess.”  He stared at the ground._

_“Even if you’re really careful, they’ll still hurt you,” she said.  She seemed to be lost in thought._

_“I—I don’t know about that.”_

_“You’ve got a pretty good handle on things,” Terra said.  She sounded so casual that Dick was certain something was wrong.  “People like you, but they know you mean business.  You’ll kick ‘em in the face.”_

_“I don’t have to kick them.”_

_“Well, what else can you do?  They’re going to keep swinging at you if you don’t break their hands.”  She stretched, an exaggerated signal of relaxation._

_“Not always!  People can change.  They don't have to_ stay _bad.  Sometimes all they need is a push in the right direction.”_

_She burst out laughing.  It wasn't a mad laugh, like the ones that echoed through Gotham at night, but it wasn't a joyful sound either.  It was harsh and dry.  “You don't believe that, do you?” she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.  “That's the most childish thing I've ever heard.”_

_“It's not childish!”  He pressed his hands down on his knees.  “It's true!  I-- I don't actually think there are that many purely evil people out there!”_

_“What the fuck.” She kept laughing, as though he were joking.  “Your whole life is about calling people evil, you can't actually--”_

_“They do evil things, but most of them could probably get better, if they wanted to.”_

_Her laughter stopped abruptly.  “Shut up.” She stood, shakily.  “You don't know anything about this.”_

_“What do you mean by th--”_

_“I mean you should shut your mouth before I knock your teeth in, asshole.”_

_He shut his mouth so she wouldn't knock his teeth in.  For other reasons, too._

_–_

**xx85**

**TM**

**–**

_Being bad was more complicated than life choices.  Sometimes, it was just the way things were.  Tara was a piece of shit, and she knew it, and that was better than being in denial about it.  Robin had hit a nerve._

_She was evil, most likely.  She did evil things.  Hurting people was wrong, and she did an awful lot of that.  Her first contract was approaching rapidly, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to turn back after that.  God, she'd wanted Robin to distract her!  She'd wanted him to ramble about something lame like circus animals or types of grappling hook.  She'd wanted him to talk about anything but her._

_She could feel phantom hands, and they were making her shudder.  She didn't know why.  It was stupid to be upset about her own decisions._

_She wished the room were bigger.  She wanted to storm off, but she also didn't want to leave.  She settled with lying in the corner in the fetal position.  That seemed like the best course of action._

_It was quiet for a few minutes.  She did her best to calm herself down.  If babies could self-soothe, she could._

_“I'm sorry,” Robin said._

_“You really don’t get it, do you?”  She didn’t look up at him.  She knew that he was staring at her, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that came with eye contact._

_“I didn’t want to hurt you.”_

_“It was bound to happen.  People hurt each other.  It’s what they do.”_

_“Still.”_

_“Thanks, dick.”_

_“Stop saying stuff like that.”  She could imagine his face.  His mouth would have that sort of funny curl to it, and his nose would be wrinkled.  “It's weird.”_

_“Dick, dickface, dickhead, dick-bottle--”_

_“That last one doesn't even make sense!”  She heard him slide down to join her on the floor._

_“None of them make sense.”_

_“I'm sorry that I upset you,” he said.  “I didn't want this.”_

_“I didn't, either.”  She wasn't sure what she was talking about._

_“That's my name, you know.”_

_She sat up to look at him.  “What?  What's your name?”_

_“Dick.  My name's Dick.”  He said it solemnly, as if it weren't completely ridiculous._

_“Holy shit.”  She covered her mouth and failed to stop a snort from escaping.  “That's why you're so touchy.”_

_“Uh, yeah, but also--”_

_“I figured out your secret identity.  Dick.”  She wasn't going to start laughing, it was not a good time._

_“You did_ not! _It was totally by chance!”_

_“Whatever you say, Dickie.”_

_“Are we still friends?”_

_She tried to say something sarcastic, but all that came out was a sputtering noise.  Instead, she just nodded._

_He threw her off guard, leaned in, and before she could react, he wrapped his arms around her.  For a second, everything was fine: she was a little startled, not quite sure what was going on, but his arms were warm--_

**_a large hand slips under the bandages, runs along her ribs_ **

****

**_weight heat a sensation in her gut that could be fear or..?_ **

****

**_she hadn't expected this_ **

****

**_verbal affirmations of consent that come out garbled and uncertain_ **

****

**_her body is frozen, it doesn't want to move, it isn't acting like it should act and_ **

****

**_he has to force her legs apart to make room_ **

****

_“What the actual FUCK!?” she screamed, pushing him back with all the force she could muster.  Robin (Dick?) rolled back with irritating grace.  He looked so damn concerned (the concrete was trembling)-- she wanted to kill him (her lip was trembling)-- how dare he how dare he how dare he--_

_“I'm sorry!” he sounded panicky.  Good.  He should panic.  He'd... not actually done anything, had he?_

_Tara released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.  She also released the gravel she hadn't known she'd been holding: it fell with a rhythm like hail.  “It's fine,” she said.  “You startled me.”_

_As an apology, she wrote “Tara Markov” on a slip of scrap paper and shoved it under his pillow while he slept._

_She was like the tooth fairy, if the tooth fairy were a whore who was okay with killing people for money._

_–_

**xx86**

**\--**

_“You’ve got a pretty nose,” she commented._

_“What?”  Dick sat up and gave her the look, the one with the quirked eyebrow._

_“Your nose.  It’s pretty.”_

_“…Thanks?”_

_“Appreciate it.”  She kissed his forehead.  He still looked confused._

_“Appreciate my nose.”_

_“It’s gonna get broken,” Tara explained.  “Somebody’s going to punch it, and it’s going to heal crooked.”_

_“I’ve broken my nose before,” Dick said.  “It came back fine.”_

_“You’re tempting fate, so appreciate your nose.”_

_“You’re weird.”_

_“I’m a realist.”_

_“How’s it realism to assume that everything’s gonna go wrong?”_

_“It’s way better than being optimistic and then disappointed, right?”  Tara smiled, and he smiled back.  It looked a little painful._

_“It looks really uncomfortable,” he said.  “Always being on edge.  I’ve known a lot of people like that, and I don’t know how they do it.”_

_“You just need to get screwed over enough times.  It comes naturally after that.”_

_“What if I avoid getting screwed over?”  He sounded triumphant, as if he’d found a trump card._

_“Then you’re screwing someone else over, nerd.”  She was tired of this.  She wanted to sleep, or hug, or something._

_“Not necessarily!”_

_“Yes, necessarily!  It’s like, physics or something.  If you’re happy, somebody else has to be equally unhappy.”_

_“That doesn’t sound like physics,” he said._

_“You’re either hurting someone or being hurt.  The faster you acknowledge it, the better you feel.”_

_“Cynic.”_

_“Baby.”_

_“You’re my kind of cynic, baby.”  As soon as he said it, he doubled over laughing.  She punched him in the arm, and the conversation was over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was a kid, my mom would refer to the tooth fairy as "he." I always thought it was weird, until I learned that it was my dad who put the money under our pillows.
> 
> As a side note, never lie on the floor while reading something meaningless. It can and will enhance any negative feelings you have at that moment


	5. better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously thank you for reading this abomination of a series
> 
> I'm so sorry you sons of bitches had to suffer through this with me honestly I am flattered out of my fuckin socks every time I get one kudos so like honestly THANK you

\--

**DG**

**xx91**

\--

Dick knocks on the door.  Tara knocks back, hard.  It's not actually a knock, he realizes.  She's just punching the door.

 

Apparently, she isn't ready to come out yet.

 

He sighs and decides to get ready for bed.  This isn't the first time Tara has become upset and hidden somewhere, but he's never sure how to react.  He's not sure what he'll say when she leaves the bathroom (she'll probably sneak out in a few hours to grab her cigarettes from the kitchen counter.  He knows her habits).

 

Sure enough, he's woken up footsteps around 2:30.  She's fumbling through the drawers.

 

“Looking for this?” he asks, brandishing her lighter. 

 

Without saying anything, she snatches it from him.  She doesn't go back into the bathroom.  Still silent, she opens the window and lights a cigarette.  It doesn't really do much to keep the apartment from smelling, but Dick does appreciate the intentions.

 

“I meant what I said,” he says.  “It's not normal to hide.”

 

“Not normal to run around in kevlar and hit people with sticks.”  She leans out the window and blows smoke into the spring air.

 

“At least I'm happy doing it,” he says.  He joins her at the window.  The view isn't that great; it's the alley where the diner keeps its trash cans, and a little of the diner's roof.  It's still much better than having no windows.  “I don't think you actually like being alone.”

 

“I don't really like it, but I'm not sad.  I'm way better than I was when we were kids.  I'm just tired, mostly.”

 

“Too tired to leave the apartment, or turn on the TV.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Don't take this the wrong way,” he says.  “But you sound super-depressed.”

 

“I don't want to die anymore.”  She closes her eyes and smiles around the cigarette.  “I'm not hurting anyone, and nobody is hurting me.  I have at least one person that I trust, and I have enough to eat.  This is...  it's the best I've ever been.”

 

“You could be better.”

 

“Stop trying to fix me,” she says, her eyes downcast.  “You've been doing it forever, and it's never worked.”

 

He isn't sure how to respond to that, so instead he sighs and looks at the flickering streetlights.  Tara leans into him, and he puts his arm around her shoulder.

 

“It's nice that you care enough to try,” she says.

 

“I want you to be happy,” he says.

 

“You can't make that happen.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I'm happy that you want me to be happy.”  The cigarette is a stub, smoldering carelessly from her lips.  Instead of putting it out with her hand, she smothers it with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

 

Somehow, this fills him with hope.

–

**xx90**

**–**

“No, you need to focus on _my_ hands!”  Dick groaned.  He really shouldn't have offered to help Jason train, but he was curious.  After all, this kid was flipping around in his old clothes, using his old name, and being doted on by his old-- his family.

 

“I _was_ focusing!”  Jason threw his arms up in the air, maybe a little over-dramatically.  “It's not my fault you've had more practice than me!”  He crossed his arms and slouched.

 

“The people you fight are going to be more experienced than you,” Dick said.  “They aren't going to go easy on you.”

 

“I know that!  It's not like I've never been on patrol.”

 

“If you know, then you should stop pouting and start punching me in the face.”

 

Jason readily complied.

–

**xx85**

**–**

_Her name was Tara Markov.  She hadn't said it out loud, but he recognized her handwriting on the paper beneath his pillow.  She trusted him enough to tell him her last name!  He kind of wanted to ask her about it, but he decided that would be really uncool.  He knew she already thought he was uncool, but he didn't want to make the connection any stronger than it already was._

_She wasn't acting any different.  Well, maybe she was a little more on edge than usual.  She'd always been a kind of neurotic, but he'd noticed her flinching whenever he touched her, even if it was just to brush lint off her shoulder._

_Dick did his best to avoid freaking her out, but he was a tactile person.  Bruce was never a hugger, but Dick had made him one (at least temporarily) via clinging and surprise cuddles.  Now that he thought about it, he’d probably gotten away with it because he was a cute eight-year-old.  Now that he was bigger, it was weird._

_From that point on, he made an effort to avoid touching her unless she touched him first.  He wasn’t sure that she noticed._

_\--_

**xx88**

**\--**

Dick knocked Jason to the floor with a sweeping kick.  The younger boy bounced for a second on the foam mat before stumbling to his feet, red-faced.

 

“That wasn’t fair!” he exclaimed.  “I was looking at your hands!”

 

“I’ve also got legs,” Dick replied.  “Gotta focus on those, too.”

 

Jason snorted.  “Where did you even learn how to do that?” he asked.

 

“Bruce.  Why hasn’t he taught you?”

 

“Probably thinks I’m not ready.”  Jason slouched again.  It made him look absolutely tiny.  “He’s always yelling at me for that kind of thing anyway.”

 

“He yelled at me, too.”  Dick sat down on the mat, and patted a space next to him.  Jason joined him, still red and angry.

 

“Can’t see why.  You’re pretty much perfect.”

 

“Who the heck told you I was perfect?”  Dick was far from perfect.  He was the opposite of perfect.  He was just a really good actor.

 

“I’ve met your friends,” Jason said.  “All the redheads.”

 

“The redheads.”  Which redheads?

 

“The redheads.  I don’t remember their names.  They talked about you as if you were magic.  As if you were more than human.”

 

“They know I was never perfect,” Dick said.  “They’ve all seen me at my worst.”

 

“Everybody loved you,” Jason said.  “I went to the Watchtower for your funeral.  Every superhero I’d ever heard of was there.  Superman cried.  _Superman._ ”

 

“Everybody cries at funerals.  Just because people cried when I disappeared doesn’t mean they don’t care about you.”  Why wasn’t Dick upset by talking about this?  It was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong—

 

“Whatever.”  Jason pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them.  “What was it like, being the first Robin?”

 

“It was just like being myself,” Dick answered (déjà vu?).  “It was like being me, except without any restraints.  I said what I thought, and I moved in the way that felt most natural.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jason said.  “I’m sorry I took him away from you.”

 

“He was gone when you came,” Dick said.  “He’d already been taken from me.”

 

“Robin was you,” Jason said.  A tear rolled down his nose.

 

“But he’d died.”  Underground, in lava and turning gears and guilt.  “He was gone when you came.”

 

“What am I, then?”  Jason wasn’t meeting his eyes.  Something painful was stirring in Dick’s chest.

 

“You’re Robin,” Dick answered simply.  “He was dead, but you brought him back.”  Hesitantly, he put a hand on Jason’s shoulder.  Jason didn’t move away.

 

“I’ll…”  Jason turned to meet Dick’s eyes.  “I’ll do my best,” he said, cracking a smile.  “I’ll do my best to take care of Robin.”

 

“I trust you with him.”

\--

**TM**

**xx91**

**\--**  
“No pills,” Tara says.  “I hate swallowing pills.”

 

“In that case, maybe--”

 

“No shrinks, either.”  She crosses her arms and glares at him.  “That includes anybody who’s gonna rant about my feelings at me.”

 

“If you don’t want pills or therapy, what do you want?”

 

“I’ll talk to _you_ about stuff,” she says.  That’s a compromise, right?  “If I need to tell you the gory details for closure or something, that’s fine.”  He’s already seen most of the gory details in person anyway.

 

“I—I’m not sure if that’s the best idea,” Dick says, rubbing the back of his head.  “I mean, we already depend on each other so much.”

 

“It makes sense to me,” she says.

 

“You can use me as a therapist, _if_ you go to the doctor first.”

 

She barely stifles a scream.  She does not want to go to a doctor.  She knows the drill.  They’ll lie her down on a sheet of paper, poke around with some shiny tools, and ask about her period.  That’s what doctors do.

 

Dick seems to sense her discomfort.  “I could go with you,” he says.  “I could get examined too.  I mean, my next med check isn’t for three months, but I think if I explain, they’ll--”

 

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?” she asks.  “Look, I’m self-aware.  I know that I’m a crazy, but I’m not half as bad as I could be.  I’m pretty great right now, actually.”  She knows she doesn’t _look_ great, in her stained sweatshirt with a burnt-out cigarette hanging from her mouth, but she hopes Dick will take her at her word.

 

“You’re not leaving the house.  You just hid in the bathroom for three hours.  You’re going to the doctor.”  To be honest, he does make a solid point.  Those things are not signals of pretty-greatness.

 

“If I go to the doctor, will you shut the fuck up?”

 

“I might not shut the fuck up, but I could probably shut the heck up.”  Dick grins, as if he’s just said something funny.  She rolls her eyes and punches him in the arm.  He punches back.

 

“You’re such a loser,” she says.

 

“I’m _your_ loser.”

 

“Shut your mouth.”

 

He makes a heart with his hands.  She gives him the finger.  He opens his arms up, and she hugs him.  The whole thing is absolutely pathetic.

 

Tara is absolutely pathetic, but in a good way, this time.

**\--**

**DG**

**xx86**

**\--**

_“What if I’m pregnant, and I just don’t know it yet?” she asked._

_“Why would you be pregnant?  We’re not--” he stopped himself, realizing what she was talking about.  “I mean, you’d figure it out pretty fast, right?”_

_“But what if?” she says quietly.  Dick imagined how she looked on the top bunk, calm-faced with her arms folded over her chest, like a corpse, as she stared at the ceiling.  “It could definitely happen.  I’m old enough.”_

_He wasn’t sure how to respond.  He hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about that kind of thing; he’d never had the need to.  “I guess if you’re pregnant, you’re pregnant,” he said.  Stupid._

_“What would I do, though?  What would happen to it?  How long would it be before it got really obvious?”_

_“Three months, I think.”_

_“Three months.  I’m not sure it would last that long.  They get stuck, right?  To your insides.  But I spend so much time moving around that it would probably get knocked loose.”_

_Dick wanted to talk about something else.  He didn’t know how to say that he wanted to talk about something else._

_“If I got really big, though, what would happen?  Would I keep training?  Would he still want to have sex?  Would he want to get rid of it, or…”_

_“This is all hypothetical, right?”_

_“Right.  But it could happen.  What if I had a baby?  I’m terrible with little kids.  I’m not sure I’d even be able to get it out.  What if they had to cut me open?  Would I go to a doctor, or just the medical bay here?”_

_“It’s hypothetical.”  Dick felt a little nauseated.  He really, really didn’t want to talk about this._

_“What if it looked like him?  What would I do then?”_

_“I don’t-- I don’t know, okay?”_

_“What if I died, having a baby?”_

_“I don’t want to think about that,” he said, trying not to choke on the words.  “I’d be alone.”_

_“Maybe you could keep the baby.  You could name it after me, if you wanted to.”_

_Somehow, that statement made everything worse.  Dick said something funny, probably, before telling her to sleep well.  He hid under his deflated pillow and tried not to cry, because it was all hypothetical.  For some reason, the images she’d conjured up were both surreal and horrifying.  They were too young to think about this.  Dick was too young to think about this._

_He was selfish._

_In the end, it really was just a hypothetical._

_In the end, he was still selfish._

_\--_

**DG**

**xx91**

**\--**

“I’m so tired,” Dick says.

 

“I know.”  Of course he knows.  Bruce probably understands “tired” better than anybody in the world.

 

“I have a friend,” Dick says.

 

“From back then.”  Bruce stares at a billboard _(Injured?  Need Legal Help?  Call the McLaughlin Firm at--)_ , its lights eerie in the Bludhaven fog.  Dick wonders if his eyes are even open behind the mask.  He looks as though he’s holding something heavy, as though he’s pretending not to be buckling under its weight.

 

“From back then.”  The night is cool and raw from rain, and the wind is grounding: it reminds Dick of his own mass, of his ability to resist being blown away.

 

“Why did you call me?” Bruce asks.

 

“I don’t know.”  Dick thinks for a second.  “I missed you.  Is Jason well?”

 

“He’s getting better every day.”

 

“I have a friend,” Dick repeats.  “From back then.  She’s getting better every day, but it doesn’t seem fast enough.”

 

“It’s been four years since it ended,” Bruce says.  “How fast do you want her to go?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dick shrugs.  “As fast as me, I guess.”  It’s a little embarrassing to admit out loud.

 

“She might not ever finish recovering,” Bruce says _(Injured?_ the board asks _)_.

 

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true.  You never finished.”

 

“Don’t say that.”

 

“You’re getting better every day.”

 

Dick sighs.  “What do I do if my friend doesn’t want to get better?”

  
“Am I the right person to ask about this stuff?”

 

“Yes,” Dick says.  Who else is he supposed to ask?

 

“I had to come to terms with this a long time ago,” Bruce says.  “I had to understand that I couldn’t control anybody.”

 

“I know that!”  If Dick could control people, why would he let them be miserable?  Why would he let them hurt each other, or themselves?  Why would he even _want_ to control people?

 

“The best I could do was push people,” Bruce says.  “I couldn’t scare any criminals into becoming good citizens.  I couldn’t force you not to go after Zucco.  All I could do, all I’ll ever be able to do, is make suggestions.”  Aggressive suggestions involving weapons and gas capsules.

 

“What does this have to do with anything?”

 

“In the end, everybody makes their own decisions.  No matter what you do— “

 

“Shut up, Bruce.”  The rain is picking up again.  The billboard is flickering _(Need…?)._

 

“No matter what you do, you won’t be able to force anyone to be happy.  If you try, you’ll wear yourself into the ground and come out of it with nothing.”

 

“I’m not wearing myself into the ground.”

 

“You’re tired, though.”  _(Need… Help?)_ “You can’t sacrifice yourself.  It will end badly.”

 

“You sacrifice yourself plenty.”

 

“You saw how I turned out.”  Bruce smiles, slightly.

 

“Tell Jason I’m proud of him,” Dick says.

 

“Don’t need to tell him.  He knows.”

 

“Tell him anyway.”

 

Dick shoots a line and heads towards the bay.

\--

**TM**

**xx91**

**\--**

There are a lot of things she wants to say.  Most of those things are curse words, but some of them aren’t.  It’s warm out, and Jump City is crawling with dumb kids celebrating the start of summer.  The shops and street names are painfully familiar, but the ache they summon is dull and almost pleasant.

 

Tara really hates swallowing pills, but she does it anyway.

 

“Sure you’re okay?” Dick asks.  For some reason, he’s been nagging her a lot less lately.  It’s sort of a relief, but it’s also sort of disappointing.  It’s nice knowing that someone cares enough to annoy her.

 

“Not totally okay, but better,” she says.  Her right hand shakes as she raises it to ring the doorbell.  Dick grabs her left, and she smiles at him.  She can feel his body heat through both of their gloves.  It’s nice.  She’d forgotten what it felt like to wear reinforced gloves (that’s nice, too).

 

There are a lot of seagulls out today.  They’re perched along the Tower’s windowsills and bobbing in the ocean.  They’re so damn loud.  How come she’d never noticed how loud seagulls were?  Why can’t she think straight?

 

“It’s us,” Dick says out loud.  The automatic door opens.

 

They’ve changed the elevator.  Why would they change the elevator?  It was a perfectly fine elevator before.  Did it break?  Did they have to call in a repairman, or did they fix it themselves?  Why is this so hard?  She can see her reflection on the floor.  It’s way too shiny, what if she were wearing a skirt?  It would have been terrible. 

 

It’s been forever since she’s worn a mask.  The weight on the bridge of her nose has become unfamiliar.

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Dick asks again.

 

“Fuck off,” she answers.

 

“Love you, too.”

 

The elevator door slides open.  Dozens of faces, familiar and unfamiliar alike, turn to look at them.  Dick steps first, but Tara steps farther (she nearly falls over, and hopes that nobody notices).

 

“I’m back,” she says, far too loudly.

 

“We missed you,” someone says.

 

“I missed you, too,” she answers.

\--

_In the end, it was pretty awkward._

_In the end, it was all worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!
> 
> I'm sorry if the pacing was super weird. I hope this was a satisfying conclusion.

**Author's Note:**

> tara "the fuck is a feeling" markov  
> richard "this is fine" grayson
> 
> the power couple of the xx80s


End file.
